


As Young As Your Hope

by megyal



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Cute Kids, Fluff, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 06:30:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To save his life, Agent Coulson is returned to a young age by Frigga, so she can properly re-weave his destiny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Midgardian was called Phillip, Son of Coul

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'ed. I just wanted to have an excuse to write real short chapters about a fave fluffy trope of mine. Will try to post regularly! Set after the Avengers. The full title should have been: "You are as old as your despair (and as young as your hope)".
> 
> ETA: I've decided that I'll end this at 12 chapters; it's fine as it is now, and what_alchemy did a fantastic remix that wrapped it up even better than I could have dreamed.

Frigga waited in the outer rooms of her personal chambers, and when Thor stepped in, she rose to her feet and spread her arms open with a smile. Thor, newly returned from the great Battle of New York, offered a small twist of his lips. He traversed the sunlit space and embraced her with surprising gentleness. 

"Welcome home," she said when they drew apart. "It does my heart well to see you safely within the walls of Asgard."

Thor kept smiling, but it seemed to be an effort. "I have returned my brother to these hallowed halls, so he may face our tribunal for his transgressions against Asgard and Midgard."

"How does he fare?" Frigga asked, leading him over to a small sitting area. Thor settled with his heavy grace onto one of the chairs and it creaked under his weight.

"He is… Loki," Thor answered. "Unrepentant." His mouth turned down into slight frown.

Frigga let out a soft sigh. "I will visit with him." She folded her arms in her lap, feeling the fine material of her gown against her skin. "Yet, there is something else which weighs on your mind."

"Whilst in battle, a Midgardian of great heart fell under Loki's hand," Thor said. "He sought to stop Loki, but was unsuccessful. This Midgardian was called Phillip, Son of Coul."

Frigga nodded, slowly. "He has perished, then."

Thor's frowned deepened. "So says Fury."

"You do not believe what Fury says," Frigga said, watching Thor's face closely. An expression of wry amusement crossed Thor's face.

"I have cut my teeth on Loki's falsehoods. Fury's attempts are admirable, but they do not compare to my brother's particular talent." His countenance descended into the shadows once more. "However… I have asked Heimdall to seek out the location of Coulson. He could not find him, though he examines all the places without ceasing."

Frigga reached out and rested one hand atop Thor's larger, rough one. "Mayhap he has truly died," she said, pitching her tone to firm gentleness. "For if even Heimdall cannot find him, then he has gone beyond his long-sight."

"You must not underestimate the Midgardians," Thor told her, even as he turned over his hand and gripped her fingers. "They may have found a way to hide him. Fury is protective of his warriors. Mother," he continued, staring at her with a hopeful expression. "I will seek out Coulson. And if I find him, will you come to Midgard? Will you help?"

Frigga's heart warmed at his tone, and at the way he said _mother_. "Yes," she said without hesitation, now holding his hand in both of hers. "I will come, if you find him. This, I vow."


	2. Someone hidden from you, here on Midgard

Tony sat at a workstation in the middle of his labs, fussing over some wiring in a tube-shaped component which Bruce held in his hands.

"I'm not your actual assistant, Tony," Bruce said with that lovely little smile of his. Tony glanced at him with a grin, and went back to his wiring. "You've built about ten different robots who could have held this in place."

"But none as gorgeous as you, Doctor B," Tony said and yanked out a slender wire, squinting at it. "I guess I'll put Bruce-masks on them when you can't be in here, huh?"

Bruce didn't answer, but a general air of amusement emanated from him. He seemed content, and Tony liked that. A content Bruce was a Bruce more likely to stay put, and Tony did everything in his not inconsiderable power to keep him that way. Tony had thrown out an open invitation to the other… _Avengers_ , and he hadn't expected _all_ of those assholes to take him up on the offer to use the Tower as their base.

He also hadn't expected to like their presence so much. Clint and Natasha were quiet, but they were honest-to-goodness _spies_ ; he and Steve Rogers still managed to get on each other's last nerve, just by _existing_ around each other, but Tony had been in rooms with people who actually wanted to kill him (and would actively make an attempt), so that wasn't that much of a big deal, except where it _was_ ; and Bruce? Bruce was an absolute pleasure and Tony told him that every other minute. Thor didn't spend that much time in the Tower, but he seemed charmed that there was a space set aside for him.

It felt _good_. It felt complete having these people all up in his space, and sometimes Tony hid in his lab so that he wouldn't get too used to it. People left all the time. Like Agent, that was a real great example right there.

Overhead, J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke up. "Sir, Thor is requesting access to the labs."

"Yeah? Okay, sure. You can put that down now, Beezers," Tony said and Bruce shook his head, placing the metal article on the work-table as Thor swept in. 

"Greetings!" Thor hollered at them with his usual booming cheer. Bruce dropped a quick salute, sliding onto the stool beside Tony's.

"Nice jeans," Tony said, wagging his eyebrows at Thor's 'normal' clothes; the button-front was just a little tight across that broad chest and arms. Thor glanced down at himself and wrinkled his nose.

"They are hardly suitable for battle," Thor answered with a mystified shrug. "But friend Darcy has advised me as to the importance of Midgardian fashion."

"I bet she just _loves_ watching you leave the room," Tony guessed, fighting down a smile. Thor huffed, rolling his eyes a little with a smile.

"And so she does," he said and shrugged once more. "I am quite willing to accommodate her wishes, in any case."

Tony chuckled, unable to help himself, while Bruce rested his elbow on the surface of the work-station and propped his fist against his cheek, smiling as well "Something you need, big guy?" Tony asked.

Thor seemed to hesitate, which was all kinds of interesting to Tony, because Thor didn't hesitate for most things; as a matter of fact, Tony would say that Thor was the _opposite_ of hesitation. It was all headlong, all the time, or so it seemed.

"If there was someone hidden from you, here on Midgard," Thor said, quietly and slowly. "Would you be able to find them? The both of you," he added, glancing between Bruce and Tony. "And my Jane would lend her aid as well."

"Oh yeah, for sure," Tony answered just as Bruce hedged, "Well, it depends." 

Tony glared at the side of Bruce's face. "Come _on_ , it'd be so easy." He threw his arms up, indicating the entirety of his labs and, admittedly, the entire Stark empire. " _Resources_ , Brucie-kins. I has them."

"It depends on how well they're hidden," Bruce told Thor, while casting a fondly withering glance at Tony out of the corner of his eye. "Who would we be looking for?"

Thor hesitated, _again_ , and Tony sat up even more.

"The Agent Coulson," Thor finally said, quietly. "It is he that we seek."

Tony _had_ to point out the obvious. "But, big guy… he's--"

"I am well aware of what Fury has told us," Thor cut in and gave Tony a heavy look. "He is a man capable of many honourable deeds, and yet: do you believe every word he says?"

"Fuck, no," Tony breathed and spun around on his stool. He raised his arms and projected screens flickered around him. He heard Bruce ask, "What makes you so sure?"

Thor said, "I am not _sure_. But… there is something in my bones which tells me that Coulson remains in Midgard."

Tony, who considered gut-feelings the most dependable of all emotions, nodded firmly, flicking through files hovering in front of his face. "Then let's go a-lookin', boys." Beside him, Bruce turned around and raised his hands as well, commandeering a few of Tony's screens. 

"Are we breaking into the S.H.I.E.L.D. mainframe?" Bruce asked, the sweet sweet innocent. Tony grinned, wide like a shark.

"Breaking in? Baby, I'm already _there_."


	3. Not beyond my ability to weave it anew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder: I know nothing science, so any scientific discussion can probably be listed under writer's immunity.

Firm stance. Breathe. Draw.

Release and follow through. Clint fired arrow after arrow, almost mindlessly locating the center of the targets which swooped around him. The program which Stark had designed was really good, but Clint probably had to adjust the difficulty level now. 

He went through life these days in the same way he fired arrows: he hit all his targets, perfectly but without heart. This was the first time in his life that he had no love for archery, and it hurt in a distant way.

"Agent Barton," J.A.R.V.I.S.'s voice broke through his cold reverie. "Thor is requesting access to the training room."

"Sure, let him in." Clint waved at the hovering targets and they zoomed close, allowing him to collect the arrows. Thor stepped inside, glancing around the high-ceilinged space. "S'up, Thor?"

"S'up, Clint," Thor answered gravely, but he had an air of suppressed excitement. "I have come to collect you, to show you a matter of great significance. Will you come see?"

"Uh." Clint blinked. "Yeah, sure."

He strode with Thor past other training rooms, through the communal living area and taking a left past the individual quarters, heading towards the true haunts of Tony and Bruce: the labs. Thor paused in front of Bruce's, and then turned to face Clint, wrapping one huge hand around his upper arm.

"Friend," he said. "I have seen you struggle with your loss and pain. This, more than anything, has driven my resolve. But that I could do more for my brother-in-arms."

Clint swallowed hard, and tried a smile. It felt ghastly on his lips, and he twitched his shoulder, trying to shrug off Thor's hand. "Oh, well. Okay," he murmured. He'd been to the requisite head-shrinking sessions, but no-one could take this pain away from him. He missed Coulson. Every day. He'd been responsible for his death, and for the death of many others; he would carry that on his shoulders for the rest of his life.

Thor simply nodded, and removed his hand, turning to swipe his fingers across the identification pad. The door hissed open and they stepped in.

"Nat?" Clint said, wrinkling his nose at her as he spotted her standing beside one of the workstation with the others. She turned with a small smile. "Thought you were in Volograd?"

"Got in this morning," she told him. "Steve said I should come home, something important."

"What's going on?" Clint stared at the rest of the team. Tony and Bruce got up from their seats, and Steve straightened up from where he had been bracing his arms against the edge of the workstation, an uncertain grin on his face. "It's not my birthday, so--"

He froze, for he'd just noticed what was on Tony and Bruce's screens. It was a video feed, looking down with nary a flicker onto a bed in the middle of a small room. 

"Coulson," Natasha said in a high, quiet voice, taking one step towards the screen. She held out one hand to the side and Clint reached out, blindly grasping her fingers. She tugged him forward, and that was when he started to breathe again. Coulson's body was riddled with large tubes; beeping machines crowded close. His face seemed distressingly peaceful.

"It was a pain in the ass to find him," Tony said, with some satisfaction as Clint's world spun around him. "But, hey, no match for the two of us, right?" He raised one hand and Bruce gave him a placid high-five.

"Don't forget that my Jane also assisted," Thor rumbled, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Dr. Foster developed an algorithm to detect a certain energy output, and that helped us zero in on his location," Bruce said, admiration in his tone. "She did a _brilliant_ job."

"Yeah," Tony put in with a sniff that was just this side of dismissive. "That was kinda cool."

Thor's pleased grin was dazzling. Clint heard possibly less than a quarter of this exchange, for his attention was focused on Coulson, the bare movement of his chest underneath the plain white sheets. Coulson's skin seemed paper-thin, and had a faint blue hue. The view blurred and Clint almost asked Tony to make some adjustment, before he realised that he had _tears_ brimming in his eyes. He armed them away, hurriedly, but no-one seemed to notice.

Thor lifted his face towards the ceiling, eyes closed. "Heimdall," he murmured. "We have located Coulson. We shall send the coordinates."

Apparently, Bruce had them memorised, for he stated, "Twenty one degrees… twenty nine minutes, eight hundred and fifty two seconds." He spoke more numbers, and Thor repeated them to the sky in that soft tone. Clint clutched at Nat's fingers as a column of light swirled beside Coulson's bed. A tall woman, dressed in shining Asgardian armour, stepped out of the luminous pillar.

"Who is that?" Clint demanded, jerking forwards. The woman had a staff in her hand. She released it, and it remained upright at the foot of the bed. 

"She is Frigga, Queen of Asgard," Thor said. "I have the honour of calling her Mother. She is here to fulfil her oath to me."

Steve said, "Your mother. That's real nice," because he was kind of an adorable old dude. "But what's she doing?"

Frigga had been eyeing the machines with that mild curiosity that Asgardians displayed when faced with Earth technology. Now she pulled her attention away to hold her hands over Coulson's still body. Golden light fell from her arms, forming what seemed to be a very heavy blanket. It enveloped Coulson and she withdrew her hands, holding them close to her chest for a moment, as if thinking. 

Then, she slid her arms under that Coulson's tranquil form and lifted him easily. The tubes ripped away and fell from where they had been caught up in Frigga's cloth. Clots of dark blood dripped onto the sheets. Clint cried out wordlessly, for she was _hurting him_ , Coulson didn't deserve that at all, he'd been through _too much already_.

"Peace," Thor said, and his hand was on Clint's arm again. "My worthy mother approaches. Tony, if you will?"

"J.A.R.V.I.S., drop the shields for a mo'," Tony said easily, but the line of his shoulders was tense. Clint let his body go loose, and he felt Nat's fingers wriggle out of his grip as the light appeared inside the labs. Frigga emerged, carrying Coulson's body; her staff floated at her side. Her bright gaze regarded them from underneath her helmet.

"Hail, Avengers of Earth," she said with a smile. "You are all very well-met." She glanced down at the swaddled body in her arms. "Here is your friend, the Son of Coul. The tapestry of his spirit was nearly completely unraveled, but not beyond my ability to weave it anew." She turned on one heel slowly, until she faced Clint. "I leave him at a number of power, so I may repair the damage wrought to the rest of his life. This I do," she said, taking a step forwards, "for the sake of my sons."

She shifted the weight of Coulson's frame to one arm, and began to unravel that glowing wrapping; the material slid over her hands and began to coil itself around her staff.

" Looks… kind of small now, doesn't it?" Nat muttered, and Clint agreed. Coulson's body did seem substantially smaller than before. 

"Wait a minute," Tony said as a dark, messy head of hair, that of a boy, emerged from the cloth. The boy was fast asleep, lips parted. He lay limp in Frigga's hold, breathing with soft regularity. "That's not Agent. That's a _kid_. I know what kids look like, I see 'em all time."

"That is Coulson," Bruce said, eyebrows raised high. "He's… three, now. A number of power, right?"

Frigga nodded, but she seemed overly focused on Clint, stepping towards him with purpose. As she stood close, Clint felt power pouring off her; the hair on his arms stood up.

"My son took your heart from you," she said, so quietly that Clint was sure that only Natasha could hear; he felt as if he was shaking to very small pieces inside. "And now, I return him into your care." She glanced at Nat, and nodded. Nat dipped her chin in response. 

Clint held out his arms, as if in a dream and Frigga deposited the warm little boy into his hands. She pulled away the last end of the heavy cloth, which had seemed to pulse against Clint's skin. 

"He's naked," Tony pointed out, quite unnecessarily. "J.A.R.V.I.S., could you, like, order some stuff that kids wear?"

"Clothes, sir?"

"Right," Tony said, pointing gun-fingers at the ceiling. "Those."

Tiny Coulson shifted, sniffled and then rubbed his nose against Clint's shoulder, depositing a thin line of snot. Clint kept his breathing under control as the boy woke up, blinking open wide eyes to stare at everyone.

"Hey, kiddo," Clint said and Coulson whipped around his head, gazing up at Clint. "Hey, it's okay. We're… uh…"

"Where's mommy?" Coulson asked, a tremor in his small voice. "And daddy... where they are?" He had very good diction, Clint noticed almost absently. Very clear speech; of course Coulson would be like that as a small human.

"It's okay, son," Steve said, stepping around Frigga. Coulson twisted at the sound of his voice. "Hey there, Phillip. I'm Steve Rogers. Your mom asked us to take care of you, okay? Just for awhile. My name's--"

"It's Captain America!" Coulson shrieked and did this weird back and forth thing where he tried to leap out of Clint's arms, then shrink back against his chest. "Captain America!"

Steve laughed. "Yeah! That's me! And… here, I'm gonna give you my shirt, okay? Because you don't have one of your own right now."

"Captain America," Coulson murmured, watching as Steve pulled off his plaid button-up, muscles still mostly covered in a white undershirt, and wrapped it around Coulson's shoulders. Coulson squirmed in Clint's grip and he sank on one knee, allowing the little boy to stand up by himself . Clint gently pulled the little arms into the massive sleeves and quickly buttoned the shirt. Coulson allowed all this quite easily, for his was staring up at Steve with stars shining in his eyes.

"Wow, he is super-adorable," Tony said, laughing a little. "I can't wait 'til he gets old again. How long do you think it'll be? Hey, where'd Frigga go? I was gonna order in, have like a big do and she just left. Well, I _never_."

"She has things to do, Tony," Bruce said. "Like repair tapestries of _actual lives_. I think it might be manipulation of quantum harmonics."

"What, _we_ save lives!" Tony squinted at him. "You know, we should have asked her while she was actually here, that might have been the way to go."

Ignoring them, Steve knelt down as well, and said to Coulson, "We're here to take care of you, Phil. Um, your parents asked us to, and we will. That's Tony over there and Bruce. That's Thor. And this is Natasha and Clint."

"Captain America," Coulson breathed, and in the midst of that bubbling joy which had taken residence in the middle of Clint's chest, he felt a very distant and familiar stab of jealousy. Coulson had always been so gone over Captain America. He laughed a little, but it came out a bit like a sob.

Coulson turned to him again, nose scrunched up. "What happen?" he piped up. "Why're you crying?"

"I'm _not_ ," Clint said and offered a wavery smile. Coulson squinted at him and then reached to give his shoulder a very hesitant pat.

"Captain America will help," he told Clint, very seriously. "Me too. I'm Phil."

"Hey, Phil," Clint said. "It's so nice to meet you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The little boy in [this post](http://grandparents.about.com/b/2011/04/27/wordless-wednesday-whered-you-get-those-curls.htm) is who I'm using as my general visual guide for bb!Coulson


	4. The Principal and the Schoolyard

Natasha stopped at the door of the main kitchen, watching. Steve stood at the stove, fully dressed in his Captain America uniform, cowl down. He was cooking breakfast, and singing _Star Spangled Man_. At the breakfast counter, Coulson sat on a stool, his legs swinging as he sang along.

The children's clothing had been delivered last night, and Coulson sported pajamas: dark-blue bottoms and a top with a huge white star on the chest. The long-sleeved top had a hood with little wings, and of course Coulson had it up over his messy hair.

"From Hoboken to Spokane!" Coulson warbled, delightfully out of key. "The Star Spangled Man! WITH. A. PLAN!"

Steve laughed, continuing with the rest of the song in a very passable voice. He turned with a plate of scrambled eggs, and spotted Natasha leaning against the arched entryway.

"Morning," he said, his grin slightly chagrined as he set the plate down in front of Coulson. "Need some breakfast?"

"Sure," Natasha said and walked over to take a seat beside Coulson. He stared up at her, lips pressed together. "Hello. Did you sleep well last night?"

Coulson nodded. He'd been placed in a room right beside Steve's, much to his delight. 

"And he woke me up to use the bathroom," Steve informed her. "He's a big guy."

"Yeah," Coulson said softly. "I'm a big guy."

Natasha reached out and ruffled his hair; she couldn't help it. "Do you remember my name?" At his squinting expression, she told him: "It's Natasha. But you can call me Natka, if you like."

"Natka," Coulson repeated. "Okay. Do you know where my mommy and daddy are?"

"No," Natasha said. "But we'll take care of you."

"Did they leave me?" Coulson asked, blinking rapidly. Natasha put an arm over his shoulder. "Was I really bad?"

"You're _very good_ ," Natasha told him, but the sides of Coulson's mouth still turned down. She exchanged a glance with Steve, who nudged the side of Coulson's plate.

"Eat some breakfast, Phil. Want some juice?"

Coulson nodded, and picked up his fork to poke listlessly at the eggs. Natasha stroked his hair again, staring at the side of his face. This small child was so far removed from the efficient adult she knew, yet his quietness was obviously a part of his personality. Natasha approved.

J.A.R.V.I.S. said, "Agent Sitwell is waiting at the threshold to this level."

"Is Sitwell alone?" Natasha asked, already knowing the answer.

"No, Agent Romanoff. There is a team of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents surrounding the tower, in plainclothes."

"Who's that?" Coulson stared up at the ceiling. "Who's that up there?"

"That's J.A.R.V.I.S.," Steve said. "He's a computer program that Tony designed. He monitors and protects this building."

"He lives in the ceiling?" Coulson pursed his lips. "That's not very comfible."

"I am comfortable." J.A.R.V.I.S.'s tone was as even as always. "I do not need much space, Phillip."

"Please give Agent Sitwell access," Natasha said, even as Coulson obviously geared up to ask more questions of J.A.R.V.I.S. "And alert the others, please." 

By the time Agent Sitwell entered the kitchen, they all sat at the breakfast counter, eating heartily; at least, Thor was very much into the breakfast. Tony sat to Coulson's left, apparently explaining J.A.R.V.I.S.'s programming to the bemused little boy. Steve sat on his other side, trying to get Coulson to eat his toast. Bruce, Thor and Natasha sat across from them, and Clint… well, Clint lurked near Stark's fantastic coffee-machine, sipping at a large mug with all his carefully calculated nonchalance.

Agent Sitwell stopped and stared as well; Coulson spared him a curious glance over his shoulder, and then was distracted by Steve's coax to have some milk.

"Good morning, sir," Natasha said. "I suppose you're here to collect an agent who's been reported as deceased for the past five months."

"I have," Sitwell said. "Director Fury has also asked for your presence at HQ as well. All of you."

"Sure," Clint said with easy cheer, even though Natasha heard the simmering emotion buried beneath that. "I'd love to hear his explanation for _this_ one."

Agent Sitwell's expression actually _spasmed_ for a moment, before it smoothed out into calmness again. Natasha arched an eyebrow, her only concession to surprise. "I'm with you on that one, actually." Sitwell inclined his head towards the exit. "Shall we--?"

"Agent Sitwell, sit down. Get some eggs and pancakes in you," Steve said firmly. Coulson looked up at the side of his face with wonder. "We have at least fifteen types of tea, too. And milk, have some milk. As soon as Phil brushes his teeth, we'll go."

Natasha continued to focus on Sitwell's face, as he turned his head and murmured to the small pin fastened to his collar.

"Stand down," he said. "I'll be out soon with the Principal and the Schoolyard."

" _The Schoolyard_ ," Tony mused, mouth twisting in amusement. "I kinda like that one, honestly. Geeks, jocks, exchange students. We have it all."

Thor asked, "What does the title _principal_ mean now in these regions of Midgard?" and Tony released a flood of explanation. "I see. Thank you, Tony. Now why is the Son of Coul called thus?"

"Uhh," Tony said and Natasha stifled a small grin. She enjoyed it when Stark didn't know _everything_.

As Sitwell sat down and accepted a plate from Steve, Bruce asked, "Agent Sitwell, what would you have done if we'd refused?" 

_We_. Natasha was surprised to find herself using that word as well, at least in her head. _We_ : all of them, sitting around the child-version of a man that some of them didn't even know that well.

"I honestly do not know," Sitwell said, resigned and amused all at once. "Pass the syrup, please."


	5. I don't have any excuses

Coulson took a bath by himself; he _insisted,_ and but allowed Steve to dress him in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with, guess what, a Captain America design.

"Who decided the theme of his clothes?" Clint asked as they rode the elevator to the underground parking garage. Steve carried Coulson, who slung his arms around Steve's neck and gave everyone intent stares as they spoke.

"J.A.R.V.I.S. did," Tony answered, gazing at the display of his unit. Apparently, he was doing work as they traveled, as was Bruce, who stared at the stream of numbers scrolling on his own screen. "Thought he would like it."

"I like it," Coulson said and then gazed up at the ceiling. "Thanks, Jarris."

Tony snorted and then composed his expression as J.A.R.V.I.S. answered, "You're welcome, Phillip."

In the garage, they all clambered into a large SUV, fairly nondescript. Clint knew that it could withstand a range of projectiles, and was actually faster than it looked; Coulson had loved these, as an adult. As the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent drove out into the main road, with one matching vehicle a few cars ahead, and another behind, Coulson was hardly interested in their mode of transportation.

"We're going for mommy and daddy?" he asked, little face hopeful. He sat between Natasha and Steve, hitched up right against Steve's side.

"No, Phil," Steve answered, and the despondent expression on Coulson's face just about broke Clint's heart. Clint's heart was honestly a bit tired of feeling so broken all the time. He watched as Coulson rested his head against Steve's shoulder, eyes downcast.

"We're going to let some doctors take a look at you," Sitwell said. "Just to check if you're okay."

"I'm not sick," Coulson said, still staring down at the floor. "Don't wanna go to the doctor."

"Sometimes even Captain America needs to go to the doctor," Tony said, and he exchanged phones with Bruce in one swift move. "Oh god Bruce, this is _fantastic_."

"I'm glad you like," Bruce said, but he smiled at Coulson. "I'm a doctor. I'll stay with you, make sure they won't do any funny business." He leaned forward to give Sitwell a sharp look. "I prefer not to meet with Fury, if it's all the same to you."

"No problem." Sitwell's response was extremely quick.

"I don't want _him_ ," Coulson said. "Captain America, I want him to stay with me."

Clint sighed a little; Coulson's face was arranged into very stubborn lines. Natasha leaned over and brushed away the dark curls, then whispered into the small ear. Coulson listened, his dark brows drawn together. Then, he stared at Bruce with a very sceptical expression.

"Really?" Coulson asked. " _Him_?"

"Even stronger than Captain America," Natasha said and Coulson pursed his lips.

"Okay," he said, and he slanted curious glances up at Bruce for the rest of the journey. Bruce didn't seemed to mind.

Deep within S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, Clint he watched a few medical staff-members do all the necessary tests on Coulson without making them _look_ like tests; they'd ask him to hold a special pencil, or play with a puppet, or race along a small track painted onto the floor.

"If my check-ups were like _that_ , I'd do them every day," Clint said, listening to the sound of Coulson's feet pounding up and down the room. One of the younger doctors was just a bit taller Coulson and he zeroed in on her, asking if she was _really_ an adult. Clint didn't hear her replies, but Coulson giggled, not realising that she deftly noted his blood pressure and recorded a number of his neurological responses. Bruce sat a small distance away, gazing to one side almost absently. However, he met Clint's glance with a quick nod.

"I'll make a note of your preferences, Agent Barton," Sitwell said. He motioned to a door just off the side of the examination area. "This way."

Director Fury waited in the adjoining room; the wall was clear on this side, looking right into the medical bay. 

"I don't have any excuses," Fury said as soon as the door shut them all in together. He stared at Coulson in a fixed manner, standing with his arms clasped behind his back. "And I'm not giving any. For all intents and purposes, Agent Coulson was dead. He was kept alive by the machines."

"So why keep him on them, sir?" Clint asked, barely snapping. "There must have been a _reason_. You must have known _something_."

"I didn't," Fury answered. "And that's all I have to say on that."

Clint glared at the side of his face and then pushed his anger to one side, really _looking_. Fury's expression was stone-cold as usual, but there seemed to be a hint of exhaustion around his eyes.

"Asgard had the means to help, you know that," Tony challenged. "But guess what, you still didn't trust them."

"It's not my job to trust, except in the fact that my agents will get their jobs done." Fury turned around. "And from my point-of-view, one of my agents was removed from medical care by Asgardian means."

"To save the life of a friend." Thor's voice sounded like distant thunder. "By Asgardian means… by _any_ means. You understand this." It was not a question.

Fury sighed. "Yeah, yeah. I know." 

"He's under our care now, sir." Steve stood up straight, goodness pouring from every inch. "I think it's best that he stay with us."

"And what if you're called out on a mission, all of you?" Fury gave them all a look of cynical amusement. "What, you're gonna bring him along with you?"

"J.A.R.V.I.S.," Tony said, because that was his answer for nearly everything. Fury shook his head.

"Agent Sitwell, I need someone assigned to monitor Agent Coulson whenever the Avengers are out on missions. Make sure this agent is ready to be pulled at short notice."

"On it, sir." Sitwell looked at Tony. "If I can get Mr. Stark to give us access at those times."

"Maybe." Tony's smile was extremely sweet. "Maybe not. J.A.R.V.I.S. takes care of _me_ , and look how great I turned out."

"Sir," Clint said, before they could devolve into that back-and-forth sniping in which Tony excelled. "Can we get Coulson's parents on the horn? He keeps asking for them. Maybe if he could see them…" he trailed off as Fury shook his head.

"Both of Coulson's parents are dead." Fury's mouth lifted into a smile. "But there _is_ a way we can let him talk to his folks."

"So he won't be so sad over them." Clint ignored the way everyone seemed to focus on him. "He's… he's a great kid."

"Seems so," Fury said. "Let's give him his parents, then."


	6. Be good. And take care

The doctor to whom Phil had taken such a shine was called Dr. Parsons, and under the admittedly unnerving attention of the entire team, she fitted a small black circlet onto Phil's head. Steve let Bruce and Tony take the closest positions, because they'd be the first to detect anything off with any S.H.I.E.L.D. device. Clint and Natasha took up the second line, with Clint's sharp eyes watching every single movement of Dr. Parson's dark hands. Thor stood in a nearby corner, poking at the puppet which Phil had been playing with earlier.

"This is for talking to your parents, Phil," Dr. Parsons finally explained, ensuring that two silvery knobs rested right against his temples. "Like a phone-call."

"Okay." Phil's eyes crossed as he tried to look up at the middle of his forehead. "We don't have a phone yet. Mommy might get one."

"This is a _special_ phone." Dr. Parsons grinned at him. "You're going to _see_ them!"

Phil actually clapped his hands, his face shining. Steve turned his head, to where Agent Hill and Agent Sitwell waited near the door. Tony had explained to him the science behind that black circlet; Steve had waded through all the mega-words and mentally summarized that its purpose was to read Phil's mind, and construct some sort of a projection. 

"Okay!" Dr. Parsons turned Phil's stool around so that he faced a narrow screen. "Now, think hard about your parents. Then, the call will go through."

Phil nodded and then pursed his lips, eyes squinting almost shut. After a few long minutes, lines appeared on the screen; a few at first, cascading slowly. Then, they increased in number and began to move much faster. The lines formed into two blurry shapes.

"Mommy!" Phil clutched at the seat of his stool with both hands. "Daddy, you hearing me?"

"Yes, Philly-Billy," a woman's voice said. It came from the screen, but Steve's hearing could also pick Agent Hill's voice in the next room. The mental projection was apparently strengthened when overlaying the image of actual humans playing appropriate roles… in this case, Hill and Sitwell, their likenesses sent by video-feed from the next room and blended in with Phil's recollection. The blurry shapes sharpened in an instant, and Steve saw that Phil resembled his mother greatly, the same shape and colour of eyes. His father, a slender man with receding light-brown hair, winked at Phil. 

"Where are you?" Phil demanded, twisting and trying to clamber off his chair. Clint darted forward and helped him down; Phil ran up to the screen, touching it with his small hands. It shimmered where his fingers touched. "When you coming for me?"

"I'm so sorry, Phil, but we have to be away for a little bit," his 'mother' said. Her voice was even and calm. "You didn't do anything wrong, and you'll be back with us soon. Okay?"

"Okay," Phil said, still stroking the screen. "Captain America gave me eggs. And pancakes. And milk."

"That's fantastic, tiger!" His father said heartily. Phil beamed. "You just sit tight. Don't worry about us, and you have lots of fun. Stay with those folks, they'll take care of you."

"Bring back something nice for me?" Phil wheedled. His parents glanced at each other and then smiled at him.

"We will, sweetheart. Now, be good. And take care."

"Bye!" Phil waved at them as the image faded and then stood there for a long time, not moving even as Dr. Parsons removed the mind-reading device. Clint knelt beside him, and placed a hand on one shoulder, lightly. Phil let out a high sob and turned to wrap his arms around Clint's neck, starting to cry in earnest. Clint gave Steve a very confused look and then stood with an armful of weeping little boy as Hill and Sitwell entered the room again, their expressions concerned. They both glanced at Thor, who returned a very eloquent shrug.

"It's okay, tiger," Clint murmured, rubbing Phil's shuddering back. "I've got you."

"He's probably tired," Bruce said quietly as they watched Clint rock Phil in his arms. "Or, he might still have traces of his older memories. At some level, he may be aware that they're dead."

"And how do you deal with shit when you're a kid?" Tony said, tone just as soft. Steve stared at him. He didn't know Tony could do soft. "You bawl your eyes out. That's what I heard."

"Maybe we shouldn't have done that, then." Steve felt a stricken sensation clump up in his chest. He could relate to Phil's tears; he knew what it was like to lose family. Phil's crying tapered off and he lay quiet and limp against Clint, blinking tear-laden lashes. He sighed in a manner which seemed too heavy for any child. Clint rested his cheek against the dark hair, still moving to and fro in gentle arcs.

"I think it's okay," Bruce said. "Let's go home."


	7. Aloes and a Brow

Phil went to sleep for the rest of the day. In the days after, he busied himself during the days by playing with the toys sent by Pepper, or colouring very carefully with Thor. Instead of watching a movie together every few weeks, J.A.R.V.I.S. put on an animated film each night and everyone bunked down to watch. Phil seemed very partial to anything Miyazaki, although one day he watched _Lilo and Stitch_ four times, back-to-back. Still, Natasha thought he was a bit too quiet. One lunch-time, as they sat at the breakfast counter, waiting for Bruce's attempt at a meal, Natasha succumbed: she rest the back of her hand against his head, but the temperature of his skin was acceptable. 

"Natka?" Phil asked, rubbing one finger over the small tiles. He had both arms up on the counter, resting his head against one of them. "Where do people go when they die?"

"I don't know," Natasha said, and Phil seemed to wilt right there. "But I hope that nice people go to a nice place."

Phil sniffed. "You think my mommy and daddy are in a good place?"

"Possibly. Are they good people?" 

Out of the corner of her eye, she noted Bruce turning away from the cooktop to stare at her. She kept most of her attention fixed on Phil, who seemed to be thinking very hard about her question.

"Yeah," he finally decided. "They're really good." He let his head tilt a bit more, looking up at her in a sidelong fashion. "You think _you'll_ go to good place?"

"If there is one," Natasha said. "Then I'm not sure."

Phil sighed. He sat up when Bruce set down a bowl of oatmeal and a plate of fruit. He dug into his oatmeal and chewed with great contemplation.

"Thank you," he said to Bruce, and continued to eat. Bruce nodded and turned back to take care of another serving.

J.A.R.V.I.S. broke in as Natasha was finishing her own bowl. "There is a… situation that requires the attention of the Avengers. Agent Sitwell is present with Agent May."

"For real?" Clint said, rushing in with his collapsible bow hanging from one arm, zipping up his vest. He gave Phil a quick smile, before staring at Natasha. "How'd Sitwell manage _that_?"

"I volunteered," someone said from the kitchen's doorway. Natasha tossed a banana at Clint and turned to raise an eyebrow at the agent waiting just behind Sitwell. "Hello, Romanoff."

"May," Natasha greeted neutrally. She slid off her stool and strolled over to them. Melinda May's sphinx-like expression did not alter, not even when Natasha stood very close and said, "Make sure nothing happens to him." She didn't need to add anything mundane such as _or else_.

One side of Melinda's mouth shifted, but not into a smile. Deliberately, she stepped around Natasha and stalked over to where Phil sat, standing behind his seat; arms folded behind her back, stance loose and wide.

"Phillip Coulson," she intoned. "I'm here to monitor you while they go on a mission."

Phil shrugged. "They're leaving me, just like mommy an' daddy. Don't matter."

Clint set down his bow and rounded the counter with a speed that even Natasha blinked at. He turned the stool around so that Phil could face him. "We're not leaving you, tiger," he said. "But this is our job. We help people."

Phil wrinkled his nose. "Yeah?"

Clint nodded. "Yeah. We're a team, all of us. We'll watch out for each other. We'll be back."

_Don't make promises you can't keep_ , Natasha thought at him, but she couldn't say it. At least, not after the way Phil's expression lightened, and then he grinned outright. May gave them her patented gimlet stare as they trooped out to the jet.

"Who _was_ that lady back there?" Tony's voice echoed out over their comms as the jet shot through the clouds, Iron Man and Thor keeping pace outside. "She was so hot. And so scary. Totally my type. I'm conflicted, should I have given her access? Or does she need _more_ access."

"Phil's babysitter, remember?" Clint cut in over Steve's low snort. "The kind of babysitter you really don't want to mess with, Tony. By the way, I promised Phil that we'd be home safe, so let's just keep that in mind."

Steve, up in front with Clint for this ride, turned and gave Natasha a very speaking look. She shrugged, and across the aisle, Bruce dozed with his glasses atop his head.

"Got it," Iron Man said, twisting in the air. "Let's boogie."

Slime and robots, Clint's least favourite combination, as evidenced by the constant output of complaints on the comms; but Thor seemed extremely motivated with Mjolnir, and Hulk powered through with loud glee, directing the main group towards Clint's percussive arrows and Iron Man's arc repulsors. Natasha accompanied Steve to locate whatever module commanded the mechanical devices, directed by Iron Man's scans.

"There," Steve said, tossing the shield through a blockade of robots as they raced down the steps and through the underground passageway to the Seventh Avenue station. A few hovering robots tried to leap at them, but Natasha took them out with sharp kicks, clearing the way for Steve to crush the tall, cigar-shaped device.

"All clear, Cap," Clint reported. "Bots disabled. S.H.I.E.L.D. clean-up on… fuck it, all the aisles. Hey, Tony, can I get a lift home?"

"What's the rush, Birds?" Tony said with a laugh, and even though Clint didn't answer, Natasha could hear the whine of the armour's thrusters coming through Clint's earpiece. 

Steve didn't hassle Clint or Natasha to complete a mission report form, and Clint was at the very head of the team as they returned home. At the back of the line, Natasha almost activated her sting reflexively as a drilling screech emanated from somewhere in the big sitting room, the one with the massive television. Apparently, it was _Phil_ yelling. Natasha shoved Thor's bulk out of her way and stared in Steve's direction, who now had the little boy perched on his hip.

Phil had his arms wrapped tightly around Steve's neck, chatting so fast that Natasha could hardly comprehend his words. Steve raised his eyebrows and then turned to glare at May, who stood with her arms folded across her chest.

"You let him _watch the mission_?" Steve snapped. "Suppose something happened to one of us?"

May's dark eyebrows twitched a bare increment. "I needed to monitor the situation. Nothing happened to you, or him. He's fed, watered and entertained." She pulled her hands free and put them on her hips, a mild challenge. Steve exhaled through his nose, heavily, his lips pressed tightly together.

"Explosions!" Phil bellowed, currently reduced to single-word interjections. " _Flying_!"

"Probably me," Tony said, and staggered off towards the kitchen, letting his helmet fall onto the soft carpet. A small, spidery robot scuttled out of a narrow alcove and dragged it back into the shadows. 

"And and and and smashing!" Phil kicked his legs elatedly. 

"Me," Bruce murmured, a S.H.I.E.L.D. blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he lurched after Tony.

"Nay, I think the numerous smashes were mostly of my hand!" Thor laughed. Phil joined in, and for a short while the two of them simply cackled together like loons. As their mirth calmed, Thor said, "Your laughter warms my heart, young Son of Coul," and tickled one of Phil's bare feet with one big finger before sinking into an armchair with a contented, gusting sigh.

"The shield went CLUNK!" Phil took a few deep breaths, and his eyes twinkled. He then twisted so quickly that Steve grunted, trying to secure his hold. Clint, sprawled in a sofa, blinked up uncertainly as Phil leaned forward, almost horizontal in Steve's arms.

"Phil, come on," Steve said with a laugh, but Phil stared down at Clint with wide eyes.

"Hey, tiger," Clint said with a small smile.

"You have _aloes_." Phil's tone was one of hushed awe. "And a _brow_."

"Yeah, well." Clint laughed a little, running one hand through his damp hair. "Aloes and a brow is how I do." Natasha glanced at May, and for a moment she could have sworn that she detected a faint spark of amusement in May's eyes. 

"That's really nice," Phil said and then reached out to him with both hands. Clint sat up and without hesitation, Steve deposited him into Clint's care. "You have a lot."

"Yep." Clint pinched the tip of Phil's nose, and then said in a much lower tone: "I used to work in the circus, tiger. I can put on a show for you, if you like."

Phil's face couldn't have possibly gotten any brighter, and yet it did. He stared up at Clint as if Christmas and at least six birthdays had come all at once.

"Looks like you've been bumped off the pillar, Captain America," Agent May said. She turned on one heel and strode towards the main door.

"I think I'm good with that," Steve said. "Say goodbye to Agent May, Phil."

"Byyye," Phil said very softly, but he gazed up at Clint's face as Clint described the different arrows in his possession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kid Phil, like most child characters I try to write, is patterned after my sister as a child. She spoke super clearly, except when she was excited or awed and then it was almost right back to the baby-ish speech.


	8. You're a good ninigere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot advancement what plot advancement also what plot

"Hey," Tony said, watching Phil race around his lab at top speed. "Hey. Hey, just. Hey, stop that, stop running. Why are you running."

"Cause," Phil said breathlessly, rounding the farthest edge of the work-table and blasting behind Tony's seat.

"Cause _what_." Tony turned to watch him go. "I could hook you up to one of my machines. You could power it for, like, _hours_. Why are you even in here?"

"Er'body had to do stuff," Phil said and came to an abrupt halt. He looked up at Tony in that serious way he had sometimes. "Clint's practicing!" 

Tony nodded. "Okay, bud. Hey, you want to play a game? With Butterfingers?"

Phil stared at him for a long time and then nodded, very slowly. "What kinda game?" He put his hands on his hips and his gaze grew even more stern, an obvious mimicry of Steve. "As long as it's not trouble. Cause Captain America _says_."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Jeez, yeah, kiddo, whatever. Okay, so--"

"What do you do?" Phil asked, rocking from side to side, hands still on his hips. "Captain America fights bad guys and Bruce Banner is the Hulk! He smashes! Clint uses arrrrrooows." He pronounced this last very carefully, obviously trying hard not to say _aloes_. "I dunno what Natka does, but it's important. Thor's funny. Do you smash things too?"

"Kid," Tony said, squinting at him. "I'm the very paragon of caution."

"I don't know what pragorn means," Phil said, eyes suddenly very wide. "I dunno what caution means, too."

"Forget about it. How did you even know that Bruce Banner is the Hulk?" Tony asked, smiling a little. Phil was kind of irrepressible as a teensy kid, unfurling out of his quiet shell by the day.

"Natka said so," Phil answered, promptly.

"Why do you call her Natka?" Tony asked, watching as Phil started to hop from one leg to another.

"She said." Phil rolled his eyes as if Tony was being purposefully dense. "What do you do?"

"I'm a mechanic," Tony said. "An engineer. I build stuff. Cool stuff."

"Like these thingies?" Phil jerked a thumb at Butterfingers. "You made them?"

"You ask a lot of questions," Tony informed him. "But yeah, I made all of them."

"Okay." Phil nodded and then sank down to sit cross-legged. "Your things are real nice. You're a good ninigere."

"Oh." Tony tried not to feel exceedingly pleased at the compliments of a small child. "I'm a genius, so, you know. There's that."

"I'm a genius too," Phil told him and lay on his side, hands clasped under his cheek. "My mommy said."

"I'm not gonna refute that, buddy. But, you're not supposed to sleep there, I think." Tony got up off his stool and knelt beside Phil, poking at his scabby little elbow. "Hey. Hey. Hey."

Phil had his eyes closed by now, but he still giggled.


	9. On like the kong of donkey

It was Clint's turn to make breakfast… at least, Steve had said it was so. Clint could handle a stack of French toast, and so he got to it. Phil seemed to have the habit of getting up early, and he walked into the kitchen as Clint whisked the milk and egg mixture. 

"Morning, tiger," Clint greeted. Phil squinted up at him, knuckling at one eye. He wore his Captain America pyjamas, laundered last night by Thor because he refused to wear any other of the five sets which had been purchased. "Hey, you still look kinda sleepy."

"No, I'm not," Phil said, a little smile softening the sharpness of his tone. He tried to climb up on his stool on his own, one leg barely making it up to the seat; Clint set aside the metal bowl and lifted him up to sit. "I coulda done it by myself!" he cried, and scowled up at Clint. Clint rolled his eyes.

"Sure," he said. "I'll get you some milk."

"Don't want any milk," Phil told him. "Juice."

"Pushy," Clint remarked and poured out the orange juice into one of those fancy little cups which Tony had ordered, the ones with a kind of suction cover. Phil complained that the juice was too cold, but still drank it, watching Clint make the toast. 

"Don't burn it," he said. "Captain America wouldn't burn it."

"Does it look like I'm burning it?" Clint said, flipping over one set. "You can't even cook, anyway."

"Yes, I can!" Phil screeched and Clint laughed at him, comfortably mocking. 

"Shhhh, inside voice," Tony mumbled as he strolled in, dressed in a grease-stained pair of jeans and a sleeveless under-shirt, also covered in grease; his arc-reactor glowed steadily, and Clint could see Phil eyeing it. Clint realised that the kid had never said commented on it, even though he'd probably spotted it a number of times, and braced himself for a wave of questions. Phil simply wrinkled his nose and went back to his juice. Clint rolled his eyes; kids were _so weird_.

"My head is killing me," Tony said. Strangely, or maybe not because _Tony_ , he sported a pair of shades over his eyes. 

"You make any new bobots?" Phil asked, because of _course_ he'd ask about _that_ , and sipped at his juice with the air of an elderly man eyeing the young whippersnappers. "Thor said you break stuff all the time."

Tony huffed with great dignity as he poured out a huge mug of coffee. "Thor doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Thor's from space," Phil pointed out. "He knows a lot! More than _you_."

"Oh, it is on," Tony grumbled at him, face almost completely obscured by his mug. "On like the kong of donkey."

Phil kept chatting, harassing Tony and Clint with his constant babble. He didn't stop even when Thor strolled into the kitchen and intoned, "My mother has sent word that her work is complete."

Clint felt himself freeze, and shook it off quickly. "Already?" he asked. Thor simply nodded.

"That was quick," Tony said and slurped very loudly.

"…and then it broke but I didn't do it! Don't tell Bruce, and what work?" Phil looked at Thor with his eyebrows tilted in curiosity. "You have a mommy? Where is she? What's she working on?"

"Something really important." Clint gave Phil his French toast and Phil inspected it, nose almost touching the food.

"You burned it," he said as he sat back. He poked one side of the bread. "Right there."

Clint took up the slice and bit off the offending section, and then set it back down on the plate, giving Phil a challenging stare as he chewed. Phil _laughed_ , the sound high and loud; Clint felt his heart grow in his chest. Phil as a little dude was absolutely adorable. He had grown surprisingly accepting of hugs; Clint really couldn't help giving him a quick squeeze now and again. Phil grew sulky when Natasha put together all the puzzle-pieces before he got to them. He consistently neglected to wash the back of his neck and his ears, but insisted to Steve that everywhere else was perfectly clean and he was _not going to bathe again_. He and Thor liked to play games on Thor's phone, and Clint had nearly a hundred photos of him arguing with Tony and building clumsy structures with Bruce's 'help'. Clint had no doubt that he would be absolutely grateful to have Coulson again, healthy and whole in his adult form… but to lose this little boy hurt, just a little.

Damn it, he was _tired_ of hurting.

"Tony," he asked quietly as Thor stole one of Phil's slices, eliciting loud complaints. Tony winced, but blinked in Clint's direction. "If I needed a small circus set-up in one of the training rooms, how fast could I get it?" 

Without a beat, Tony said, "Gimme two hours," and dug around a pocket for his phone, shoving his shades up to the top of his head. "And like, ten painkillers. Wait, never mind, I'll get Bruce to whip up a little something-something, dampen every single nociceptor I own." The small projection flickered to life over his phone, but he looked right through it at Clint, a smirk tugging up one side of his mouth. "You want a circus for Kid Agent, Birdie? You got it."


	10. It Is Your Life

Steve released a low whistle as he walked into largest of the three training rooms, the one which spanned two floors. This training room also wrapped almost halfway around the exterior of the structure, and possessed a reasonably-sized running track. Right now, quite a few people were scurried around, checking the circular rigging installed over nearly half of the space, while others completed the task of draping brightly-coloured panels of cloth over the glass-walls. The top ends of the cloth were all secured over the rigging, giving the impression of a tent. A tall curtain hung just outside the rigging, presumably obscuring that prep area for performers.

Tony had apparently bought in an actual circus.

It was times like these that Steve felt the most intense bemusement at just how much money Tony had; sure, even in his day, Howard had been the kind of rich that seemed almost impossible, but Tony went even beyond that. Steve stayed by the door, taking in the relatively small, curved stand of seats and a booth which would serve fare such as popcorn and the like. Clint and Natasha were just by the stands, talking seriously with a slender woman with a halo of lovely grey hair around her head. The woman glanced over at Steve and she nodded at him before returning her attention to the two Avengers in front of her.

"What do you think?" someone asked at his elbow and Steve glanced at Tony by his side, focused on his phone as usual. "Couldn't bring up the animals, Gina didn't want to freak them out too much, so it's mostly like the aerial stuff, and the contortionists. And the acrobats and, you know, personally I can't wait for the hula-hoop bit."

"Tony," Steve breathed. "This is amazing."

Tony shrugged. "Eh. Think Kid Agent will like it?" He sounded completely off-hand, but his dark head tilted towards Steve.

Steve placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. Tony glanced at his fingers with an air of surprise and then blinked up at Steve's face. "He'll __love__ it. I think we'll all have a fine time. Thank you, Tony."

"Just part of my job to bring peace and sunshine to the world." Tony smiled, a warm, genuine movement of his lips. When he smiled like that, Steve could really see the appeal. He let his hand fall away and Tony wandered off, idly glancing at the metal connections. Steve watched him for a moment and then exited the training room, walking slowly through the wide corridors, and climbing up a few flights of stairs to get to the living quarters.

Thor and Bruce had been tasked to keep Phil away from the big training room, but when Steve entered the movie room, as dubbed by Phil, the little boy kneeled in one of the couches, facing the door with a perky expression. He ignored the movie playing on the large screen behind him, and disregarded Thor's attempts to get him to sit back around.

"What's going on?" Phil said, his voice a bright chirp. "All kindsa strange stuff out there! Is it a party?"

"Not really. It's a surprise," Steve said, hitching on a very mysterious tone. "You'll like it."

Phil's eyes gleamed as he watched Steve walk around the couch, turning to face him. "Tell me?"

"Oh, no." Steve sank into an armchair with a large grin. "That would spoil the surprise, wouldn't it?"

Phil slid off his chair and stampeded over to Steve, climbing into his lap. "Come on!" Phil begged, apparently inputting one thousand percent of childish charm. He slid one arm atop the closest of Steve's wide shoulders, all chummy and sweet. "Tell me, tell me, _tell me_ —"

Steve tickled him and Phil descended into howls of laughter. He wriggled and tried to escape, and Steve let him go. He stampeded back towards Bruce and Thor, scurrying up into the chair and tucking himself behind Thor's back. Thor twisted, lifted him bodily and tossed him in the air… _high_. Steve sat up in concern as Phil went up, yelling and flailing. He descended, and Thor caught him with a gentle ease, swinging him around in an arc.

"Wait just a bit more, young Song of Coul," Thor told him as he set Phil to sit into the crook of his massive arm. "You shall be entertained shortly, feats that will be honoured with wonderful tales!"

Phil leaned his head on Thor's shoulder, and _actually_ batted his eyelashes. "Tell me a little bit?"

"Certainly," Thor said without pause, puffing out his chest in regaling preparation; both Bruce and Steve leapt for them. There ensued a brief and hyper interlude in which Phil ran around the room screaming his head off, chased by Bruce; and Steve wrestled with Thor on the ground, clamping a palm over his mouth so that he couldn't blurt out the secret.

"Hey!" Tony yelled from the door and everyone froze. Steve clambered off Thor, helping him up. Tony clucked his tongue at all of them. "So are we gonna watch the circus or what?"

"The… _CIRCUS?!_ " Phil bellowed and jumped up and down. "IT'S A CIRCUS. A circus is HERE!"

"Sheesh." Tony stuck a finger in his ear and wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, so. The show's ready."

Phil seized his closest hand and squeezed it in both of his. He gazed up at Tony with an almost fervent expression. "Where?"

Tony stared down at him with a puzzled air, as if Phil had appeared in front of him all of a sudden and then smiled. "Come on. I'll show you."

The lights of the training room were dimmed, but they picked their way over to the seating area easily, sitting right in the front row. Phil sat between Steve and Tony, with Bruce and Thor bracketing the ends. Smells of fresh popcorn and cotton candy filled the air. Steve heard Phil's muted _thank you_ as Tony handed him a huge striped bag and a massive cloud of cotton candy, floating about a stick.

"Want me to hold one of those for you, tiger?" Steve asked and Phil nodded, then peered between the two options, torn. Steve took the cotton candy, since it was closest to him and held it as Phil dug into his popcorn.

A spotlight lit up the center of the ring, and the grey-haired lady from before stood there, her dark gown glittering.

"Where's Clint?" Phil whispered, loudly. "And Natka?"

"They'll be here soon, kiddo," Tony told him.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" she called in a clear voice. "Distinguished guests! Welcome to the Cirque Regale!"

Steve sat back to enjoy the show. After the hand-balancers, the perch-pole balancers and the contortionists, his cheeks hurt from grinning. Phil kept jumping out of his seat, spilling his popcorn. His cheeks were sticky from the huge bites of cotton candy and he seemed to be vibrating with excitement.

Natasha came out after an act in which a woman balanced atop an extremely ladder, climbing it even as it stood vertically. Natka wore a sequined formal suit, complete with a bow-tie, a set of knives fanned out in her hands.

"Natka!" Phil said, waving. Natasha graced him with a small smile as she paced across the ring. Clint emerged from behind the curtain as well, and Tony stifled a snort at his purple get-up, and pretty fantastic make-up. Phil turned to Steve, kneeling in his chair and leaning to whisper in Steve's ear: "That's Clint!"

"So I see." Steve pointed at the ring. "Look, tiger! She's gonna throw those knives!"

Phil sat back down so fast that the seat squeaked. Clint stood with his back against a large, rectangular target, fists on his hips; he nodded at Natka. The knives flew so fast that Steve's gaze couldn't track them and they sunk into the target around Clint's body, the polished black handles quivering. Phil tried to whistle with his fingers in his mouth, as Steve had been doing, but no sound emerged but a windy puff. Clint stepped away, and the knives remained buried in an obvious outline of his form.

During Clint's act, Phil was completely silent. Steve kept glancing down at him as Clint executed these impossible-seeming shots, flipping and twisting, falling and spinning, _never_ missing the balloon or apple targets; at one point, Phil appeared to be holding his breath, both hands clenched to his chest. Steve had seen Clint do stuff like that on missions, but there was a new element now to his flow: more… _showy_ , instead of the tight movements he usually displayed.

It was a fantastic show, all of it; at the end, when everyone came out for their bows, Steve stood with Phil in his arms, cheering loudly.

"Bravo!" Tony cried. "Bravo! That was more than worth it, seriously."

"That was…!" Phil yelled when the lights went up and Clint came over, followed by Natasha. His eyes were wide. "You guys!"

"Did you like it?" Clint picked him up out of Steve's hold and gave him a quick hug. Phil snuggled up against him, getting glitter and make-up all over his clothes.

"It was so great!" He looked up at all of them, standing around him in an almost protective circle. 

"It was Clint's idea," Steve told him. "And Tony brought all of it in."

"Yeah!" Phil pumped one hand in the air, apparently the manifestation of sheer delighted gratitude. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve noticed a flash of golden light; he turned his head slightly and let out a slow breath as he spotted Frigga standing near the back of the stands. She carried a large pile of shimmering material in her arms. Phil warbled on as she advanced, and then he turned in Clint's arms, his chatter fading.

"Clint?" he asked, shrinking back against Clint's chest. "Who's that lady?"

"She's Thor's mom." Clint pressed his cheek against the top of Phil's head, his eyes closed as if he was in pain. Steve swallowed, hard and glanced at the rest of his team. They gave him wretched looks in return. "She's here to… to do something else real nice for you."

"I know her," Phil said, his voice dream-like. "I know that lady, I seen her before. Dunno where."

Frigga smiled and slipped into the center of their group. Moving slowly, she draped the cloth around Phil's shoulders. Phil scowled at her and tucked his chin in, looking down at himself.

"It's itchy. And _heavy_ ," he whined and Frigga laughed, stroking long fingers through his mess of hair.

"It is your life," she murmured. "Sleep, my dear."

"Nooo, not sleepy," Phil murmured, but he slumped against Clint, eyelids drooping. "More… circus." He took a deep breath, pursed his lips and then relaxed completely. Steve held up one hand to block out the brightness of the material as it glowed. When the light faded, Clint stood with Agent Coulson in his arms, still wrapped in a material which seemed to be rather normal, albeit lovely with its golden thread.

"Thank you," Clint said, his voice rough. He directed this to Frigga, even though he didn't look up at her. "Thank you so much."

"My vow to my son has been fulfilled," Frigga said. She reached out again and rested her palm against Agent Coulson's scruffy cheek, before stepping away. 

"Phil," Clint said to the limp man in his arms. "Wake up."

There was no response, except for a slight movement of Coulson's eyebrows.

"Hey, tiger," Clint whispered and Coulson's eyelids flickered open, gaze fixing on his face. "Hey, sir."

Coulson stared at him for a long time. His lips parted.

He croaked, "This blanket is really itchy."


	11. My Deepest Thanks

Agent Phillip Coulson sat at his desk, his arms folded against the outer edge, which was made of wood, or some material made to look that way. The middle of his desk was a clear polymer screen. Folders flipped open, words twirled in obedient lines and images danced under the slight movement of his fingers against the screen.

These images, mostly photos with some video, had been sent to his email from J.A.R.V.I.S. No accompanying email, just the files. Coulson had the very strong hunch that Stark's A.I. had made a choice to send these. It was quite possible that Stark had ordered this task; both lines of thought were surprising to even consider.

They were pictures of _him_ , as a child: a small, dark-haired boy, running around the Tower with a bright grin and hardly a care. Coulson inspected each image closely. He _remembered_ , but these memories were vague and tinged with a sort of sepia-toned nostalgia. His gaze found Clint in nearly every one, either carrying him or watching him with an indulgent smile. Coulson let out a slow sigh, and closed the folder. He tapped near the lower left corner of his desk and brought up the classified files which he had requested from Director Fury.

 _This_ data was not as sweet, nor did they foster any nostalgic feeling; the reports were clinical, and held very little hope. Coulson forced himself to read every single word, every action taken to keep his brain active, to maintain his body in a state of stasis. He had been _dead_ , or so close to that point that it really didn't matter. He experienced a wavering sensation in the pit of his stomach, but he kept reading. He allowed himself a very small smile at the security communication which outlined the appearance of the Asgardian Frigga within the protected confines of his room; the words had taken on a disgruntled air, and Coulson had the idea that Agent Hill had been plenty pissed over that.

He slid another file into focus, and grinned outright at an urgent alert sent out to all available S.H.I.E.L.D. field operatives, Level Six and up, not associated with the Avengers Initiative: the request had been for an emergency mission, to directly monitor a 'confined and incapacitated' Agent Phil Coulson. There was no explanation for Agent Coulson's sudden return to the land of the living, nor his physical state at the time. Yet, Coulson raised one eyebrow at the number of volunteers and Agent May's determined submission for the temporary post.

Director Fury pushed open the door to Coulson's office with nary a warning knock. Coulson rose to his feet, watching as Fury settled into a chair on the other side of the desk, folding one long leg over the other, and fixing his darkly singular gaze on Coulson.

Coulson sat back down, and laced his fingers together as he rested his arms on his desk, the display now dimmed.

"Sir," Coulson said, very softly.

"Agent Coulson," Director Fury answered, his tone just as low.

Coulson sighed and bent his head a little. "Why did you keep me alive?"

Fury settled even more, slouching outright. He tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair and tilted his head to one side, as if listening to distant music.

"You know, people keep asking me that," he finally answered. "But I really have no idea why."

Coulson stared at him. In his long years as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, Fury had never flummoxed him so completely. From the amused expression on Fury's face, he was well aware of Coulson's current bemusement.

"You spent a lot of resources on me, sir," Coulson said and swallowed hard. "You…should have let me die."

Fury seemed to go very still all over. His regard, which had not shifted from Coulson's face, went stony and considering all at once. 

"You're a good agent, Coulson," he said. "Nigh indispensable. But that's not why you're important." He reached over and tapped the surface of Coulson's desk, bringing up the 'confined and incapacitated' alert. "You got Agent May out of that little back room she stuck herself in all these years. _You_. I heard she threatened other agents for the assignment." He drew back and squinted at Coulson. "You bring out the good in people, even in its most questionable form. I'm _not_ about to let that die."

"You could have made me into some kind of mythical figure," Coulson said, very dryly. "Regale the new recruits with outright lies, if it would make you happy."

"Did you _want_ to go, Phil?" Fury asked and his tone was genuinely curious. "Were you _really_ ready?"

"I was," Coulson admitted. "I was really prepared."

"I wasn't," Fury said, very sharply. " _I_ was prepared to hang onto you until something worked out in our favour." He spread out his arms. "And it did."

"Sir," Coulson said, and narrowly refrained from covering his face with his hands. A hollow, heavy feeling had abruptly settled over his shoulders. "I have no idea what I'm supposed to do now."

"You _live_ ," Fury said. "Live again, Phil. That's all we can ask. You want the Avengers? You could get those assholes back."

Coulson didn't know whether to nod or shake his head. He thought for a long moment, listening to his own slow breaths. Fury sat there as if he had all the time in the world.

"They did a good job of caring for me," Coulson finally said, and felt an indulgent smile curl at his lips. "I think they can take care of each other now."

Fury snorted and got up, heading for the door. "Welcome back, Agent Coulson."

"Thank you, sir," Coulson answered. He twitched his fingers, and the files fanned out under his hand again, eager to display his shattered, re-woven life.

"I know you can hear me, Heimdall," he murmured. "Please, give Queen Frigga my deepest thanks. I… I would like to thank her, in person. One day."

He stood up and strode out the door, fixing the lapels of his jacket. He had the sudden urge to go _home_.


	12. Good for you, tiger

Coulson stood in the private elevator which led from the basement parking all the way up to the Avengers' quarters. Hands clasped loosely in front of him, he listened with one ear to the mild music emanating from the slim speakers embedded in the walls. A small part of his mind worried over foolish things; mostly, who did the Avengers prefer? Phil, a small boy who was admittedly extremely adorable as evidenced by photos and videos, or a fairly innocuous agent with a receding hairline?

It didn't matter, he told himself, holding his shoulders in a relaxed line even as they threatened to lift rigidly towards his ears. He realised that he had raised one hand to rest lightly on his chest. There was no physical scar; whatever Frigga had done, she had restored his body whole. However, the phantom sensation of ruined flesh never seemed to fade. He carried it with him, resting deep in his mind, shaded in cold blue.

"Good day, Agent Coulson," J.A.R.V.I.S. greeted as soon as the elevator passed a blank, reinforced level which served as a buffer between the Avengers and the rest of Stark Tower. "It's a pleasure to see you again."

Coulson smiled. The ache in his chest diminished, just a little. "It's… a pleasure for me to be here. Thanks for sending me the pictures and the videos."

After a very slight pause, J.A.R.V.I.S. replied, "You are most welcome, Agent Coulson." That pause, as brief as it was, seemed to have a very satisfied air.

"You called me Phil as a child," Coulson said. "I'd like if you'd call me that now."

"Certainly," J.A.R.V.I.S. answered without any hesitation, and he sounded even more content. As the elevator halted and the door slid to one side, the A.I. said: "I've alerted everyone to your arrival. They are at lunch in the kitchen. Welcome home, Phil."

Coulson walked very slowly through the main living areas, almost meandering. The memories of _two_ childhoods mixed in his mind, sometimes overlaying each other. He remembered watching a baseball game with his father: tucked right against his side in the sofa right in front of the TV, revelling in his bulky warmth and the rumble of his voice as he complained at the umpire's calls. Right over that memory (or _around_ it, or under it), he recalled colouring in a book with Bruce trying to guide his choice of crayons. 

He paused by the open area in which he'd watched many a movie with one or more of the Avengers; _superheroes_ who quite easily endured hours of animation (some musically-inclined) because they wanted to. 

When he finally entered the kitchen, all of his former caretakers stopped eating and stared at him. No one seemed to be on cooking duty today, for boxes of take-out were strewn across the surface of the eating counter. Bruce and Tony gave him wide-eyed yet calculating expressions; they were so alike, those two, despite the different hands which life had dealt them. For that matter, so were Steve and Natasha, soldiers created by people who had underestimated the strength of their souls. 

Thor and Clint sat at the opposite end of the counter. Thor beamed at Coulson and even waved a little, before taking another forkful of noodles. Clint's expression was open, full of wonder and hope. Coulson had always been able to read his face, even if he took on that unsettling blankness, but Coulson had never seen him look so beautiful. Vaguely, he wondered if his childhood memories had anything to do with that. Very likely, and he found he didn't mind at all.

He swallowed. "Hello," he said, addressing all of them, even though he had to struggle to shift his gaze from Clint. "How are you, Avengers?"

"Phil," Steve said and then blinked, hard. "I mean… Agent Coulson—"

"You've seen me in pyjamas," Coulson said with a little smile. "I'm pretty sure that gives you all a pass on my first name."

After a few beats of silence, Tony said, "You want something to eat? We still got a lot of everything."

"Sure," Coulson said before Clint could answer, and he took a seat beside Bruce. He handed Coulson a plate, and dished out a large serving of what appeared to be some sort of tofu-based meal, loads of vegetables, and rice. The rest of them got back to eating; Bruce picked up a fork, paused and then set it down to hand over a set of chopsticks.

"Thanks," Coulson told him, and wrinkled his nose as he poked at a snow-pea.

"Just eat it," Steve called out almost absently. "Good for you, tiger."

Everyone froze. Steve's cheeks went red and he said, "Uh. _Yeah_ , so—"

"It's fine," Coulson said, mildly, even though there was a bloom of warm fondness in his chest. "I don't mind. If you could not call me 'tiger' on missions, though, that would probably be best for everyone."

"I kind of like it," Bruce said with a grin. "I think it beats 'Principal' any day."

"It may take us some time to forget about you being a kid," Natasha said, and there was an oddly hollow note in her voice, even though her face seemed fairly relaxed. "It's a phase. It will pass."

"We may never forget," Thor put in, and dropped a broad wink when Coulson looked at him. "And mayhap, that is a good thing."

Clint kept his gaze down as he murmured, "It was great having Kid Phil around, really. I love that kid, not gonna lie. But… I think I do better with the adult version, you know?"

They all stared at Clint, who refused to look up, and then everyone else swung their attention to Coulson, their eyebrows raised. They did everything like a team, Coulson realised. Like a family. The thought wrapped itself around his mind, settling beside what Clint had just said.

"Well," was all Coulson had to say, hoping that he didn't sound too staggered.

Tony chuckled, a low, surprisingly warm sound. His eyes twinkled. "Well, indeed," he said, and took a very pointed sip of his midday coffee.

**fin**

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [To Put Away Childish Things](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1206172) by [what_alchemy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_alchemy/pseuds/what_alchemy)




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